


Pieces

by orphan_account



Series: Bmc Secrets [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Bmc secrets au, F/M, Halloween Aftermath, Hospitals, Jake is sad and needs a hug, Jake is traumatized too., Two river cast, brooke is being supportive, please... Jake deserves love, take away my writing Jake rights, this au is pretty much all sad, vomit warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Halloween wasn’t supposed to end in tragedy. A party was supposed to be fun, not to end in the loss of his closest friend.Hospitals aren’t places you feel safe, and Jake Dillinger wants nothing more than for this to be a nightmare, a twisted prank played by reality.It isn’t, though. And no matter how much he doesn’t want this to be true, his life is in pieces around him.
Relationships: Jake Dillinger/Brooke Lohst
Series: Bmc Secrets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661773
Kudos: 16





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> The beautifully sad and painful au belongs to x_lohst_and_found_x on Instagram! I won’t go into details because it is not my au to tell, but they have BEAUTIFUL artwork for it on their page :) go check it out!!
> 
> Bmc Secrets is something I offered to write a few scenes from and this is one of the most painful things I’ve ever written. I hope you guys like it and please go check out the rest of the au on Instagram!!

The very first thing he noticed was the smell. Sickeningly sweet, and far too strong. It woke him up, and unable to fall asleep, he thinks back on the dull ache in his head and legs. 

He can’t remember barely anything from last night. The only thing that runs through his head is the loud cheering of the party, the bitter taste of the vodka he KNOWS he shouldn’t have drank, and the… the screaming. Why were people screaming?

Where even is he?

He opens his eyes, wincing at the brightness that immediately stung as soon as he does. White is everywhere- his room isn’t white. He’s not at home, and that worries him more than anything. Maybe he passed out, or something. Alcohol isn’t his friend, but he drinks it anyway just to get away from the reality of the world for a little while. Maybe he made another stupid party decision… he’s been making a lot of those lately.

A few minutes later and a few more tries at keeping his eyes open, he can finally look around the room. His gaze starts at his legs, covered by a bedsheet and feeling unbearably heavy. His gaze travels further, until he sees the scratches and burns decorating his fingers and wrists. To finish it off, he’s in a disgustingly blue and itchy gown that hurts his eyes to even look at. 

The heart monitor is steadily beeping. There’s an IV next to his bed. There’s a nurse, messing around with a clipboard and facing away from him.

He’s in the hospital. Why?

A flash of orange catches his eye, and he turns his head quickly to face it. Too quickly, apparently, because the flash of pain that accompanied it was nothing short of his muscles protesting. 

“And this morning, we looked into the fire that shattered a school community. Last Night, the fire station received a call from the east side of Middleborough. We’ve been told not to disclose the teen’s name, but his home was burnt to the ground last night in a party prank gone wrong.”

The information comes like a punch in the gut. Jake wants to cry, wants to scream, wants someone to pinch him. That’s his home shown on the TV, burnt to ashes. That’s the tree he had a tire swing in for the longest time, soot staining the side closest to the house. That’s the place his parents used to call home, and it’s gone. It’s gone and there’s absolutely nothing left. 

“However, the tragedy doesn’t stop there. It sadly claimed the lives of two students who attended Middleborough High; Richard Goranski and Michael Mell. Police believe Goranski set the fire in a prank gone wrong, of some sorts. The investigation is underway now, we’ll update you when we can. We only wish the greatest of condolences to the families in this trying time.”

The heart monitor speeds up, and that catches the attention of the nurse. The moment she sees his pale, strained face, she drops the clipboard and comes running. 

“Hey, hey. Take a deep breath for me.” She checks the machine, resting her hand on his arm. 

Rich is dead. Rich is dead. His best friend, his closest friend, the only person he really thought ever cared about him. No, this isn’t real. This didn’t happen. He’s dreaming, he drank too much last night. This isn’t real.

“Oh my god, of course I left that on.” The nurse curses under her breath, grabbing the remote off of the small bedside table and turning the TV off. The nasally voice of the reporter dies away, leaving Jake alone with the urge to puke and the nurse right beside him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, you were saved before things got worse. I know that’s your house and you’re upset, but you’re okay! Just take some deep breaths for me, okay?” She’s trying to help, but right now, nothing is going to help with the absolute despair, heartbreak, and disbelief that he feels. 

He can’t cry. He wants to. The emotions are building up like a wave, dangerously towering and just WAITING to come crashing down and decimating everything in its path. He wants to scream, to cry, to do ANYTHING. He wants to stop staring blankly at the dark TV screen, unable to tear his gaze away. He doesn’t want to be numb. He can’t cry, even if he wants to. 

He gags, and the nurse finally takes the hint and runs to the counters in the corner, throwing open a drawer and finding a small container. She types something into a pager as she walks back to him, placing the container in his hands. He hears the whisper of “Zofran, room 105” before he gags again, the only thing coming up being bile and his own spit. His throat burns, and no matter how much he wants a single tear to drop from his eye, it doesn’t. A dry wail is all that escapes, as he continues to spit into the container, his stomach churning and throat aflame from being forced to expel something that didn’t exist in the first place. 

The nurse sighs, the gloves on her hands a soothing green compared to the harsh and disgusting blue of the hospital gown.

“Go ahead. Let it all out.” 

“I can’t. I can’t. I want to and I can't.” He whispers, the burning in his eyes only growing worse. He just wants to cry and he can’t. The nurse sitting beside him is making things worse and he doesn’t know WHY. 

“Oh, sweetie.” 

He goes dead still, and to his horror and disbelief, the tears begging to break free finally do. They spill down his cheeks, hitting his sore arms, hot and wet and he finally realizes what he wants right now, more than anything in the world.

“I want my mom.” 

The nurse ever so carefully moves the container from his hands to the floor, patting his arm gently. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“No. no, she’s gone and she’s not coming back. She’s never coming back. Neither of them are, I’m alone. I just want my mom. I just want my mom.” He feels pathetic, the tears falling faster than he wants as he reaches up and wipes at his cheeks, the burns on his hands stinging as he does so. 

“I’m going to need you to stay calm, sweetie, I can’t have you hyperventilating again. Your body is fragile enough right now, you need to be careful with your legs.” The nurse brushes his hair out of his eyes, meeting his heartbroken gaze. Serious meets Sad, and Jake lets out a pathetic, quiet sob and buries his head in his hands. The nurse frowns, stepping back and pulling out her pager. 

“Patient is distressed. I might need some backup in here and the doctor to really explain what happened. Room 105, thanks.”

Jake feels the tears gather on his eyelashes, but doesn’t lift his head. If he doesn’t look around the hospital room, if he doesn’t look at his useless legs, if he can block out everything in here that’s threatening to overwhelm him, he’ll be okay. He has to be. He can’t be weak, he can’t cry. He’s Jake Dillinger- his life is perfect and he has no reasons to be upset.

At least, he didn’t before. 

He doesn’t want this to be true. He wants this to be a terrible nightmare, he wants to wake up and see if Rich sent him some stupid meme and send another text to his parents that he knows won’t be seen. 

He doesn’t want this. He wants his best friend. He wants to know WHY Rich was stupid enough to set ANYTHING on fire, prank or not.

He can’t now. He’ll never hear Rich talk to him again. He’ll never figure out why. Life was going well for him, why did it turn on him so quickly, taking everything he held dear and smashing it into the dirt? WHY. that’s the only question running through his head, as he ignores the throbs in his legs and the stupid, painful burns on his hands. 

He wants his mom. It’s stupid, really. She and his dad left, a quick kiss to his forehead one night when she thought he was asleep, and that was it. A letter left on the counter, an emergency phone number taped to the fridge. She didn’t tell him goodbye. They thought a LETTER would suffice, explaining that they left because they’d get arrested otherwise. 

They could’ve taken him with them. He wouldn’t have ratted them out, he wouldn’t have been stupid and ruined their plans. Why would he? He loves his parents. Sure, they’re committing crimes but they were doing it to take care of themselves and him. But, of course, they thought he’d be stupid enough to slip up and ruin it. He’s not surprised, why should he be?

Then again, he’s never been anything but a bothersome or a token in any scam they’ve created. “Oh, you have a child? Of course we’ll think about signing on with you! What a perfect family!” He was nothing but a pawn and it hurts him to think that he was naive enough as a kid to think his parents really loved him. Tolerated him? Sure. Liked him? Of course. He was his mom’s funny personality wrapped up with his dad’s good nature. Of course he was likeable. 

But they didn’t love him. He knows that, because while sometimes the only way you can show someone you love them is to leave them, this isn’t the case. He needs his parents. He just wants his mom to run into the hospital room, wrapping him into a hug and his dad to clap his back and tell him that as a family, they’d work through it. 

It’s stupid because he won’t ever get that. His parents are in South America, living it up, while everything he ever had of them are ashes in the remainders of his home. The baby pictures, the first day of school pictures. The random ones of his parents, looking as in love as ever while he stays behind them, the pretty little perfect pawn. 

He misses them anyway. Despite the surge of anger towards them for leaving him, he wants to cry until he can’t. Because he loves them SO MUCH and he just wants them here and they’re NOT. They’re NOT here and they’re not going to be here and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. Nothing at all. 

“I know you aren’t feeling the best, but you need to know what happened so we can discuss your road to recovery.” A new voice echoes around the room, as he lifts his head and glares at the newcomer. 

It’s a doctor, eyes filled with pity as she approaches him like he’s a wounded animal, untrusting and ready to snap. She finds a chair in a corner, pulling it over and sitting by his side. “I understand the emotions you feel right now, and let me be the first one to tell you I’m so, so sorry for the loss of your home.”

“My home doesn’t matter. My best friend is gone.” He interrupts, voice choked by a sob. He doesn’t like saying it out loud. 

“My apologies. But right now, I need to talk about you. You leapt from a second story window and you broke not one, but both of your legs. I’m very happy you survived, but this is going to take quite a while to heal. We’ve tried contacting your parents, but they haven’t answered us.”

“They’re not going to.” He swallows past the painful lump of words in his throat, “They’re gone for good. They ran off somewhere for money laundering.” As much as he would kill to see his parents, he knows they would not want to see him if he’s the reason they ended up behind bars. So, he’ll stay quiet on exactly where they are. He won’t rat them out. He’ll prove them wrong.

“Oh.” The doctor is surprised, despite her stoic facial expression. “Well, we’re going to keep you here a few days until we can contact a guardian. While we’re here, I need to inform you of the fact that your legs aren’t going to ever go back to the way they were before. There’s a slight burn on your left ankle, but that isn’t so significant. It’s the severity of your breaks, and despite all medical professionals saying that people’s legs will go back to their full strength, I don’t see it happening for you. I know that hurts but I don’t give my patients false hope. After they’re healed, we’ll get the casts off and start you on physical therapy. How does that sound?”

The doctor isn’t doing anything wrong. She’s staying professional, stating the facts and laying out a program for him.

He just doesn’t want to hear it. Right now, he wants to be alone and cry without anyone watching. He doesn’t want to hear about life carrying on, because right now, he’s in a limbo of absolute devastation and he doesn’t WANT it to be over. Leaving it behind means leaving his best friend, leaving his past life, leaving his parents. He can’t do it. He can’t handle this, he can’t hear this, not right now and not ever.

“Please just leave. I can't listen to this right now. I just want to be alone.” he manages a whisper, hating the fact that the doctor is staring at him, eyes softened in pity and GOD that’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want pity. He wants to be alone, he wants to be by himself to sit in silence and cry because everything has come crashing down into flames and he just wants OUT of this living nightmare.

“Okay. I’ll be back later. Don’t forget to press the button if you need anything.” Her voice is soft, as she pats his hand ever so lightly and turns to leave the room. As soon as the door is shut behind her, Jake lets down the pitifully weak walls he had up and lets the tears drop. There’s no one here to listen; why is his cry so silent?

Because it’s not the heartbroken sobs that echo off the walls that are the saddest. It’s the ones where you can’t even force a noise out, where the tears silently drop because there is nothing to even say. No words to mutter, no thoughts to speak life into. Just absolute silence, just like every night at his home when he’d go sleep, just like how he wishes it was like now. The tears don’t stop falling, one after the other as he looks out the window at the city below. 

He doesn’t want this. He wants to wake up. Life is cruel, and people do terrible things to each other. He can’t even discern whether he’s angry at Rich for being stupid enough to get himself KILLED, or angry at himself for not being with Rich. Could he have stopped it? Or would he have died in the process?

Maybe that would’ve been better for him. He wouldn’t have to sit here, heartbroken and alone.

* * *

He sits there for a good few hours, resting his head against the uncomfortable pillow and staring out at the occasional bird that shows up by the window. Birds are carefree and cute, and even though he’s emotionally gone numb again, they’re a happy sight to see.

A slight knock on his door startles him, as he turns so fast he's surprised he didn’t get whiplash. The nurse from earlier is peeking inside, offering him a warm smile. He doesn’t return it. 

“You have a visitor.” 

“I’m not in the mood. Sorry.” he mumbles, turning back to the window. It’s not his parents, or they’d be granted instant access. After all, they don’t even know he almost died. He’s not in the mood for anyone else.

The nurse tells whoever it is behind her that they can’t come in- Jake pulls the blanket closer up his chest, resuming his glance out the window.

“I don’t care. I have to see him whether he wants to see me or not.” 

Brooke Lohst ducks under the nurse, looking like death personified. Jake isn’t trying to be rude, but if you saw her swollen under eyes and red cheeks, you’d get what he was saying. She looks so frail, so pale, and the second she lays eyes on him she looks like she’s about to cry. 

“You’re okay, oh my god.” she runs towards him, blonde hair laying limp behind her. Once she reaches his bed, she collapses into the seat nearby, scooting it close. Jake sighs, clenching his fingers on the bed. He’s not ready for this.

“You can go.” He looks up at the nurse, who nods and exits the room. He finally turns to Brooke, who is looking up at him with the most forlorn expression he’s ever seen on a person in his life.

“Jake, Did they tell you what happened last night?”

There’s the question he doesn’t want to answer. Speaking words gives them power and that’s the last thing he wants to do, but he nods anyway. He can’t just ignore Brooke- she came to see him, after all. She’s been his only visitor so far, and honestly, that’s probably how it’s going to stay. 

“Jake, I need you to talk to me. Burying your emotions isn’t going to help you.” Brooke rests her hand on his arm, trying to catch his gaze. Jake turns his head, looking towards the counters in the far corners instead. 

“Jake. please. I know you’re hurting. I am too. Rich…” she swallows, the tears in her eyes finally sparkling, “He was someone I cared about a lot. But you are too, and right now, you’re the person I need to be with. I need you to open up. I know you aren’t okay.”

“Of course I'm not! Does it LOOK like I'm okay?” His voice is rough, and it hurts coming out of his throat, and by the tone of it? It probably hurt Brooke too. But right now, all thoughts are leaving his brain because someone is here, someone that won't send him to a psych ward and someone he knows and trusts.

“I lost my home, my best friend, and everything that made me popular and likeable in one swift blow. No, I'm not okay, Brooke.” 

The blonde opens her mouth, but before she can say something, Jake cuts her off once again. 

“And the funny thing is that I honestly think that I’ll be fine. Just keep up the porcelain face, ignoring my pain and pretending that my actions don’t have consequences. If I never threw that stupid party, just to get validation that people do like me, none of this would’ve happened. Rich wouldn’t be gone, and that other kid would still be here. This is my fault and I can’t do anything about it. I should’ve been trapped in the house, not Rich.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake. This isn’t your fault, don’t you dare say that it is.” Brooke’s voice is hurt, as she reaches out and turns his head towards her. “You didn’t do anything. You just threw a party for everyone to have fun, and something happened that was an ACCIDENT.” 

“How do you know that? You don’t. No one knows what happened beside Rich and no one can ever get the answer from him now because he’s DEAD.” he slams his hand down on the bed, ignoring the sharp pain that accompanies it. 

“I know. But Jake… Jake, it’s not your fault. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

“I can’t NOT do it. If I blame myself, there’s someone I can take my pain out on instead of bottling it up. If I hate myself for this, if I blame myself, I can be angry at myself instead of anyone else. No one else will have to suffer with me being stupid and just crying over this, which I hate that I’m even doing but it’s not like I can just stop crying, I’m mad and I’m hurt and I want my parents and they’re gone. Everyone is gone and I don't have anyone to turn to. There’s NOTHING LEFT of what I had and there’s nothing left of me to give to anyone. Everything is gone and I don't know what to do.”

Brooke stood up, leaving Jake to glance up at her as she sits on the edge of his bed. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it a second later. There’s not much someone can say after what he just spat out, is there?

She leans forward, pulling him into a hug.

Jake honestly can’t remember the last time someone just decided to hug him spontaneously. Guys don’t just hug each other, and he never did with Rich. The smaller boy was very adamant on the fact that he didn’t want to be touched. Jake wishes he did hug him once, anyway. It’s not like he’ll ever get the chance to do it now.

Chloe doesn’t give hugs in a relationship. She hangs off of him, hand in his as she clings to his side. Chloe isn’t in for hugs or anything that is normal in a relationship- at least, she wasn’t with him. 

His mom and dad used to hug him when he was younger. That time has come and gone, years past and right now, he’s about to cry even harder than before because Brooke is doing something no one has in such a long time.

He finally breaks his shocked position, returning the hug. He grips the back of her shirt as he rests his chin on her shoulder, and just breaks. 

The emotional dam comes crashing down, and he knows he’s getting her shirt wet with his tears, but right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything, about whether or not he seems weak for crying or pathetic. 

Brooke stays still, her own tears silently dropping down her cheeks as Jake openly sobs, and it hurts to hear. Because it’s not the sad whimpers of someone who lost something temporary, but the absolutely heartbroken and devastated sobs of someone who’s lost someone far more important to them then anyone else in the world. And she wants to be here, and she wants to comfort him, but right now the best thing to do is just sit and let him cry. Her dads always did that with her, and she’s trying her best to help Jake in the only way she thinks he’ll listen to right now.

God, he didn’t deserve what happened last night. He’s one of her best friends, and sure. Chloe always hated that about them, but Chloe isn’t her friend anymore, so it doesn’t matter. She hasn’t visited Jake and probably won’t, so there’s nothing she can say. 

“I’m here for you. Don’t bottle up your emotions and don’t take it out on yourself. If you need to talk, talk to me, okay?” she whispers, as Jake’s sobs slowly taper off and he sniffs. 

“I think I got snot on your shirt. I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse, as Brooke pulls the small box of tissues off of the bedside table, handing them to him with a sad smile.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Brooke… thanks for visiting. I’m sorry I said you couldn’t come in earlier.” He looks at the tissue in his hands, his breath shaky. “I just didn’t want to hear that what the reporter on TV said, really happened.. I just want to pretend that it didn’t and I can’t. And I don't know what to do.” 

“Hey, we’ll figure it out. I promise, I won't let things get worse.” she reaches for his hand, resting hers on top. “I’ll be here for you. I swear that with everything I have.”


End file.
